The Parting Glass
by LeStrangexx
Summary: "Christ, girl, you keep lookin' like that and you'll turn into your momma." AU... very AU. Based on if Daryl had saved Sophia. Set quite a few years after she had gone missing. Rated T for language on occasion and the gore and violence that come with zombies.
1. Immortal

_Hi there, I'm new to the whole Walking Dead fanfiction thing, so I do apologize if this isn't the best. Reviews are most definitely welcome. :D_

_-Gabby_

As her oceanic eyes stared out the old, bay window apprehensively, he couldn't help but crack a small, bitter smile. Seeing the concerned curve to her brow and thin lips pressed into a line, he sighed, "Christ, girl, you keep lookin' like that and you'll turn into your momma." His voice snapped her out of her trance, and she brought her eyes to meet his own. It was as though he was looking at her mother. The thin face. Those big, blue eyes. The thin frame. She was even wearing her earrings and cross. "Phia?"

Wringing her hands, she finally turned to face him. "Hey, Daryl?" With a grunt and a nod, he signaled for her to continue. "I know I never told you this, but I told Mama and think you should know." Her left hand reached up to fiddle with the cross which hung around her neck. "I know you're not my daddy, but... you were a better one to me than my real one ever was. Mama thought so, too, and... and..."

The wavering in her voice could not be denied. Tears were threatening to spill from her eyes. A lump was rising in her throat, not letting up regardless of how hard she tried to swallow it back down. "I didn't mean to make ya' cry. I'm sorry." For him, it became hard to tell if she was shaking her head slightly or if it was just recoil from her tiny, now, shuddering body. "Hey, c'mere." His arm wrapped around her bony shoulders.

"Mister Daryl." He suppressed a chuckle. The last time he heard that name was when she screamed it at him after he found her in a closet in an abandoned, old house. "That was you when you found me that day." To be able to look him in the eye, she pulled away slightly. "That was a long time ago, huh?" It was true. She was a woman now, and his hair was growing grays at the sides. Rick, Carl, and Andrea left them. Glenn and Maggie had, too. "Must've been real long because you're my daddy now. I'm not sure you would've liked hearin' that as much then."

A soft, somewhat sad smile came across her face, very similar to the one her mother had given him when he joined their for the discussion about that boy's inevitable demise; the same one he received when he brought her that flower. "You and Momma... you're a lot alike. It's like she's still here with me, but in you, kid."

There were tears slipping down her cheeks now, but that smile that didn't quite reach her eyes remained. "I think Mama'd like to hear you say that." Still gingerly playing with the cross, she gazed out the bay window past the heavy blankets they left open when it was light out. Her mother always preferred it that way. A path of disturbed earth along with a rock she had said appeared to be shaped like a heart and a dried out bouquet of white flowers. "You know, Mama always liked the spring. She'll always be with us then, right? As long as we last here?"

"Course," he replied, joining her gaze upon the stone, flowers, and earth. "Ain't no way she'll miss out on watchin' over us."


	2. Winter

_Thank you so much for the kind comments! (: I'm so glad there are people enjoying this so far. I'll do my best to keep this updated frequently, but for now, here's another chapter!_

_-Gabby_

Once, the area must have been a quiet, suburban neighborhood filled with laughing children riding their bikes around the cul de sac as their parents happily watched on from the ends of the long driveways. Only the bicycles were left now, laying on the ground with dark, seemingly red stains next to them. He was sure the previous image was what had attracted her to it. This realization came one night when she finally got around to telling him about the home she had previously lived it. She described it as small, but cozy, and in a lovely, small neighborhood. There had just been enough room for three people, and that had seemed perfect at first. After she and her husband had their daughter, the tiny house began to feel smaller when there was nowhere to escape his increasingly violent actions. Years after her husband was gone from her life, they found this more than suitable house that soon became home. The light in her eyes when they stumbled upon it could have made anyone unable to resist her request to stay.

All that was left of her was beside him bundled up in a coat and scarf, sitting on the edge of the patio chair with an ax in hand. It was a relatively cold day, especially for late March, which he figured was the time of year. He still had layered his vest on top of the in-between season jacket they had picked up. She was cold a lot of the time much like her mama, but she never complained about it just like her mama. "How long do you think the fence'll hold up?" she mumbled into her scarf. Shortly upon arriving, they raided a Home Depot that was just a few miles away for thick boards and wiring to go around the inside of the picket fence that already surrounded the fence. "Think it'll be sturdy enough to last another winter if we make it that long?"

Growing up in a world like this must have taken any sense of optimism away from her at a young age, he thought. She had lived it on her own, only for a week or so, but on her own nonetheless. They had been in their home for quite some time, though they hadn't kept track. Something was bound to go wrong. Both of them were well aware that good things never last "I reckon so." Her mama's nose peeked out over the rim of her scarf. "If we make it that long," he added, and she nodded, narrowing her eyes. "Don't see why we wouldn't, but ya' can't be sure." The eyes lowered to her ax now.

"No, you can't." It had been forty-two days. _That_ she had kept track of. There was an ache in her heart most nights she had felt before. When she had been running, every night she was away felt like twenty years. She yearned for her mama's embrace; it made everything better when he daddy would do those awful things to her, melted the fear right off of her, and killed off any sadness she ever had. "Can't be sure of anything anymore."

A gust of wind blew by, causing the bare branches on the surrounding trees to quiver violently. "Wasn't much you could be sure of before it all went to shit, t'be honest." Yanking up the collar of his jacket to cover his ears, he suppressed a shiver himself. Maybe he had miscalculated the time of year. Though he could not remember a time where he did such a thing, both of those women had the tendency to make him lose track of what he was always good at. "Why don't you head inside? 'S gettin' cold out here."

Her hesitation told him that she did not want to leave him out there by himself, but the fact that her fingers, now purple, were not being able to move themselves from around her ax told him she needed to. "You sure? I don't wanna leave you out here by yourself." She hoped he had not seen her quick glance at the dried out flowers sitting by the stone. When she looked back at his face, she knew that he had. "Would you mind if I stayed out with you just a little longer?"

Something told him he should tell her no. The last thing they needed was for her to catch some sort of sickness from the chill. Those women did crazy things to him, though. "Fine, just a little while. Then you get in there b'fore you get sick, girl." To appease him somewhat, she scooted her chair a bit closer to his, so she would be able to share a small portion of body warmth with him. Sending her inside was going to be that much harder now. "Thank you," she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled. "I miss her, too, kid."


	3. Shortbread

_Thank you for the reviews, guys. (: It's very much appreciated. In this, I'd say Sophia is somewhere between eighteen and twenty, although this chapter is half flashback anyway. _

_I hope you're enjoying! Thank you for reading!_

_-Gabby_

Every time she saw him munch on a cookie from a box with the scowl he wore whenever something displeased him, it brought her back to the first time she saw him show her mama the sort of affection her real daddy never did. When she looked back on it, she never did see him wear that scowl more than back at the quarry. "You want one?" he inquired, sliding the box of cookies toward her.

Those exact words were the exact words her mama had said to him. It was a warm day, not more than a few after he brought her back to the old man's fenced-in farm. Just after a successful supply run, everyone was in good spirits, well as good of spirits as one could be in at the end of the world. The farmer's younger daughter, Beth, who was but a few years older than she was at the time, brought out two candy bars for her younger companions. "Don't eat 'em up yet, though. Carol's making treats, so y'all need to save your appetites."

At the mention of her mother's baking, she could barely suppress her excited squeal. She had yet to have any of her mother's homemade sweets since hell took over earth. Babbling was all that came from her as she explained to her counterparts how good her mama's cooking was and how she made the best brownies in all of Madison. "But I'm really hungry now." The little boy, her best friend, groaned, waving his candy bar around in the air. "I don't think I can wait for whatever Carol's makin'!"

"But, Carl, you don't understand. You've gotta wait. Mama makes the best treats ever. My nana taught her, and you've never eaten nothin' as good as nana's cookie bars! She's the only one who cooks better than my mama! Well, cooked, I guess." She stared down at her feet whilst awkwardly kicking the dry ground with the toe of her shoe. "But, still, I bet you haven't had nothin' half as good as whatever Mama's whippin' up in there."

A knowing chuckle came from behind them. "Beth, your father needs you inside, and I do believe it's 'haven't had anything,' Sophia." Before everything had gone to hell in her own life, her mama had been a school teacher. She had always known a lot of things and always shared them with her daughter, but for as long as she could remember, her mom stayed home with her. The days of teaching ended the day she said 'I do.' "It seems like we need to start lessons again soon."

Usually, a statement like that would be received with a whine and a moan from both of the children. The tray of cookies in her hands, however, garnered a very different reaction. "Cookies!" they both shrieked ecstatically. "Mama makes the best cookies ever! Thank you, Mama! I thought I wasn't gonna ever have these ever again!" Eager hands grabbed at the cookies, taking one each. "Thank you so much."

Her mama simply smiled at her little one, who just days ago was missing and even presumed dead by some. Since she had returned, there was an energy and happiness about her that never had been present in her personality before. "I thought you might like them." There was no way she could thank the man who searched for her so much, never giving up on her and nearly killing himself trying. She knew her mama felt the same way, and judging by the soft smile gracing her worn features, he was heading their way.

The little boy, sheriff's hat hanging lopsided on top of his mop of hair, caught on as well. "Did Daryl bring back something good today? I hope it's raccoon. We had 'coon one night while you were gone, Sophia. It was so good!" The rest of her friend's words trailed off as she studied the faraway look on her mother's face. It was something she had never seen. Sure, she had witnessed the small, corners of her mouth lifted into a smile, the soft, blue gaze that stared down the field, and the relaxation of the muscles in her jaw. Rarely, had she been able to see all of those traits in one expression.

The grunt that escaped a throat behind them was unmistakable. "Beggars can't be choosers, boy," he growled as he got within earshot of them. When she glanced back at him, his eyes were locked on the crystal pair that had followed his way toward them. They did not come close to matching his gruff tone of voice in the slightest. In fact, she thought that, as he got closer, he might have even been smiling, but she wasn't sure, having never seen him smile.

On the other hand, she would be a liar if she said she was not sure if her mama was smiling. Even her gleaming white teeth were showing a little. "Welcome back." She had only seen the two have an exchange or two before, and they would generally entail a couple of words and a few nods from each of them. With a raise of the cookie platter, her mom addressed him again, "You want one?" He approached with squinted eyes, the setting sun bouncing off of the reflective tray. "I made them this afternoon."

She and the young boy looked at each other, silently betting whether or not he would take one. A grin grew across her face when the hunter picked up not one but two chocolate-dipped cookies with his dirty calloused fingers, and an even bigger one came over her mama when he nibbled on one, humming as he did so. "Tastes good." Then he did something no one could have expected. That same rough hand ran up her mama's arm, stopping at her shoulder to give it a small squeeze. "Real good." Their eyes locked for a solid moment before he released her shoulder and then heading into the old farmhouse with his string of squirrels.

That voice brought her back to the granite island in the kitchen of their home and the box of generic, grocery store brand cookies facing her. "Phia?" She now received that same gentle stare from the man who had become more of a father to her in a few years than her own had in her whole life. "You okay?" His brows knit together as his mind worked to figure out a reason for her silence.

The old, wooden stool between them was empty. Everything around them seemed to be missing something. "Sorry," she muttered. She wished her mind could have stayed back there at the old man's farm with the green fields behind the fence and those people she had grown so accustom to seeing every day, most importantly her mama. "No thanks. I've sworn off cookies."


	4. Wine

_Hello there!_

_I'm very glad everyone is enjoying. It's a mystery what's happened to Carol at this point! :o It'll be revealed in due time, but just know that she's not here and there's a reason for that. I'll have some more flashback chapters in the future because I love me some Carol and love writing her. When I finish this story, which won't be for quite some time, I'm thinking about writing some Caryl because they're just elkadsjg;lksjgd;lkajsd;g._

_There will most likely be another update this evening, so stay tuned._

_Thank you so much for reading, lovelies!_

_-Gabby_

They both knew spring was upon them. Green was returning to the naked branches of the trees. Flowers were beginning to sprout up from the ground once again. The hunt was good again, but there was nothing in her that felt the joy of the new life in nature. Her mama loved the spring. Her mama's birthday was in the spring. Her mama was never going to see the spring again.

Judging by his slumped form and the bottle in his hand, he felt the same way. There was still a chill to the night air that cut right through her as she stepped through the door to take his place outside in the lawn chair. Before he got the chance to say anything, she blew the flame from the candle out, which sent the sweet fragrance of the smoke into her nose. "Hey," she whispered, using one hand to pull her sweater closed while she rested her baseball bat against the chair beside the one he was already sitting in. He returned the greeting with a raise of the half-empty bottle. "You should probably get some sleep."

After a grumbling an incoherent statement, he raised his clouded, grey-blue eyes to her. "No way, short stuff. Ain't gonna lose my girl, too." His glance returned to the dark night once again. For the second time in her life, he was drunk. "Why doncha' come sit?" There was a moment where she didn't move, trying to dig into her memories how he acted when he drank. When her daddy would drink, he would stumble into her room at two, three, even four in the morning and... she shuddered at the thought of the unspeakable things he would do to her, touching her, hitting her, saying those things to her. "Sophia." Something about the way he said her name always comforted her, but it was his rough hand's gentle grip on her arm that did this time. "I ain't like tha'. Y'know tha'." Hurt was evident on his face.

She was well aware that he would never do something like that to her, but he knew just as well that it was near impossible to get over a fear like that. "I know." A forced half-smile pushed its way across her lips. "I just... I've only ever seen you drink when we were at the CDC with everyone. I don't think Mama liked you drinkin' much after what she'd seen my daddy do." Sighing, his grip on the bottle tightened. There was no doubt in her mind that he was grimacing at the dark, quiet street before him. "She knew you weren't like that, but-"

He slammed his other fist onto the arm of his chair. "Don' talk 'bout her!" When she jumped away from him, he realized the mistake in his action. "'M sorry. I... I miss her a whole lot. Didn't feel nothin' but missin' her today." As her wide eyes adjusted to the darkness a bit more, she saw him swirling the deep red liquid around in the bottle. "Yer momma an' I would sit out here sometimes after you'd go to sleep an' have a little a' this. Said she liked this stuff, but yer daddy wouldn' let her have it for their weddin'."

With lips pursed into a thin line, he looked back out into the night. He made the silent promise to himself that he would do whatever it took to not cry in front of her. "Dunno why she liked this shit. Too sweet." For a moment, he was at attention when he heard a scuffling, but eased back into her seat after realizing it was her moving to sit beside him. "But yer momma would sip on tha' drink for hours, not even sayin' anythin' mosta' the time. She'd just sit there."

God, he missed her more than he missed anything in his life. His brother, his mother, that god damn bike, he'd trade them all to have her back with him. Nothing seemed as right as it did with her around. "Sometimes she'd talk 'bout ya'. How much she loved ya' and how beautiful ya' turned out and stuff. Nothin' a momma shouldn't say about her baby. Liked thankin' me for bringin' ya' home to her." The lump was rising in his throat again. To keep it from making itself known, he took a swig from the bottle, sweet liquid warming his throat and shoving the lump back down. "I loved tha' woman, y'know? Kept me together all these years."

Despite his best efforts, she couldn't help but notice the tear running from one of his eyes that caused him to mutter a curse under his breath. "It's okay." She snaked a hand around to pull the nearly empty bottle from him and then clasp it around his shaking one. "You don't always have to be so tough. It's okay to cry sometimes." And that is exactly what he did. Almost immediately after her words, he threw his arms around her, sobbing into her neck for hours until the sun came up. "We'll be fine," she attempted to tell him reassuringly, but it was hard to sell something she wasn't even sure of.


	5. Mirror

_Thank you so much for continuing to read, everyone! I promise you'll find out what happened to Carol, but just know that she is dead. I'll try to incorporate flashbacks as often as possible because, quite frankly, Carol is my favorite to write._

_Just to be a little clearer, in this bit, it mentions another farm, one once belonging to Carol's family. I just always imagined Carol growing up around a farm, so that's how that came about. _

_Thank you so much for the reviews._

_-Gabby_

He often told her that she was a lot like her mother, which never helped her much in regards to missing the woman. It was always, "ya've got your momma's eyes," or something along the lines of "your momma always did that" or "you and your momma... you're a lot like her." While she was happy she was like her wonderful mama, it was a painful reminder that she had no mama anymore.

Regardless, she had her mama's old, dark blue dress on with that old string of pearls that belonged to her nana, and even she had to admit, she did look quite a bit like her mother. A bit thinner, younger, and with longer hair, but a spitting image of the woman nonetheless. When she looked at herself, she wished her mama was there instead. She saw a skinny, little girl, frail and fragile, not the strong woman her mama had been.

Back at the second farmhouse, which had belonged to her mama's family before, there was a small wedding ceremony for two of the remaining survivors. The First Lady and the baby were gone. The older man and his RV were gone. The farmer and his younger daughter were gone. The sheriff's loose cannon friend was gone. Not many were left at that point. The old man, who owned the first farm, had another daughter, Maggie. That day, she was marrying the only person who still mattered to her in the hell they were living in.

Her mama stood in her the large, old room, which had belonged to her mother and father when she was young, in that same dress with that same string of pearls. With such a joyous occasion happening, there were tears streaming from those clear, blue eyes. A year or so later, she was told it was that day her mama found out from her baby sister that her own daddy had 'opted out' after the dead started to rise, but at that moment, she just watched her mama cry to her reflection. "Don't cry." He had cleaned up nicely, a clean, button down shirt adorning his figure, and was standing on the opposite side of the room. "You're too pretty to be cryin' like that." After moving across the room slowly until he was standing behind her, his hands rested on her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," she sniffled. "I didn't... I don't..." Her mama was stuttering. This was something she did often around him. Half of the time, she didn't even know what she wanted to say probably because their relationship did not consist of much talking to begin with. "I haven't worn this dress since I married Ed." A small smile, though it was barely one, grew across her thin lips. "I always loved it, though. My mother always said it looked beautiful on me, and my daddy-" She paused a moment in order keep her composure. "My daddy told me I looked like her when I wore these." Her fingers rolled over the pearls thoughtfully. "I hoped he would've passed before all of this. He'd been in so much pain before that."

His hands had gone to rubbing her arms, trying to comfort her. The attempt was as good as anything he could have done for her. "'S probably watchin' over you now. Should be pretty proud of himself 'cause he sure raised one hell of a woman." With tears returning to her eyes, she grabbed his right hand and pressed a soft kiss against the scar which sat where is thumb met the rest of his hand. Their eyes met in the reflection, and one of those rare smiles came across his face. Burying his face into the crook of her neck, he used his free arm to wrap around her. "Love ya', woman."

No longer a young girl crouched outside of a room spying on her mama and him, the, now, woman frowned. Everything seemed so empty without her mama around. As much as she may look like her mother, she wasn't her. She had her blonde curls framing her face. She looked a little more tired. Her eyes looked much colder. Her body was a little too skinny, almost breakable. Something about her face showed a little bit of her daddy, which brought a sick feeling into the pit her stomach. "No!" A fist collided with the image in front of her, blood splattering onto the floor. She stared down at her hand to see the damage. Not too bad, she assessed, there were only a few larger glass shards that would be easy to pick out of her bloody knuckles. After concluding her wounds were minor, she dropped down to her knees, glass particles stabbing through the skin of her knees "I'm sorry, Mama. I should've protected you better." Droplets cascaded down her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I love you, Mama."


	6. Lullaby

_Hello my dear, lovely readers!_

_I'm so, so terribly thankful for you taking your time to read this little story of mine. :) You're the very best! To answer carylshipper4life's question, they did not ever get married, as I could never imagine them doing. It is implied that it's Glenn and Maggie getting married. She's just in an old, blue dress she had that she hadn't had the chance to wear since before she married Ed. I'm sorry for not making that clear enough._

_Thank you all for reading! You're beautiful, beautiful people for giving this the time of day! :D_

_-Gabby_

Sometimes, if he were going out in the morning to hunt, he would stand in the threshold of her bedroom and just watch her steady breathing as she slept. Ultimately, he knew he had to wake her before he left, but something in her light snores comforted him. Maybe it was her face; it resembled that same innocent face he saw cowering in the woods all those years ago. Perhaps it was that the way she looked while she slept almost made him forget that the dead were walking around the same earth they were. Mostly, he thought, it was because she slept the exact same way her mama had when she was still around.

God, he missed his woman. No matter how big of a pain in the ass she had ever been, the fact that he loved her always remained true. The way she dealt with his garbage was something that was never available to him in his life before the end of the world. Merle would have told him she was plain, old, and haggard. There was a way she had about her that drew him right to her. In the way she cared for her little girl and all the others in their camp, her soft demeanor after being through so much in her life, the way she loved him back. "Damnit, Carol," he sighed to himself.

It was difficult for him to exactly pinpoint when she had first fallen ill. They had figured it was simply seasonal allergy-induced bronchitis, which she apparently had been known to get in the past. The only thing was it did not let up after a week or two like she and her daughter explained. By the end, she could barely breathe without painful wheezes wracking her entire body. He figured it was pneumonia, drawing similarities between her symptoms and those that he aunt had many years ago when she was dying of the illness. "Don't worry about me," she would always say. "I'll be fine." He imagined that was what she said her entire like, and even if it was less than true, she would say it. Often, how selfless she was made his heart sink into his stomach. She did so much for everyone, yet so little for herself.

Even during those days after she had her little girl back, she stayed up for what seemed to be days, making sure if her daughter were to wake up she would never be alone. Many times he would catch her humming while she stroked the young girl's hair, twirling her curls around her fingers. The songs were mostly old, nursery rhymes he slightly recognized, as some were the same rhymes his mother would hum him to sleep with most nights when she was still around. One of those nights made him realize he wanted to keep them safe from the surrounding chaos, if only for the fact that his woman remained such a caring mother and overall person despite everything that had happened to her. Not many people could gain the respect he harbored for her in a lifetime, let alone the couple of months he had known her.

On occasion, he would take a seat next to her, being sure to maintain his distance, and she would smile while her child slept in her lap. His response was usually the same, a small nod of acknowledgment before tending to his crossbow. Every so often he snuck a glance at the duo and could not for the life of him remember ever seeing such a sincerely content smile on anyone. So clearly could he remember he saying, "Some people are born to do things in their lives. I was born to be a mama to this little girl."

Her little girl was there in front of him, sleeping but not so little anymore. With her mama gone, that little girl became his, and some days, that responsibility overwhelmed him. Even so, he loved that girl. She was the last link he had to her mama besides maybe a notebook or two, some books, and a ring or a necklace. This little girl, now a woman, was everything to her mama; therefore, he would take care of her as long as he could. "I'm awake, you know," she grumbled, with eyes closed.

And like that, he was snapped out of his trance. Her mama was gone, cold, dead, and buried in the ground. She was a memory now, a part of this young woman and him. "No, didn't know. Wanted to make sure you were up." Every piece of him wanted to break down into tears and tell her he loved her and her mama with all of his heart, but he didn't. "I'll be down waitin' for ya'. Don't take too long. Game's good now that it's spring. Need to get as much of a head start as possible."


	7. Agony

_Just because I loved the idea of this chapter ( not the outcome quite as much, to be honest with you), I decided to throw this in here tonight._

_DOUBLE UPDATE MADNESS! I hope you enjoy._

_-Gabby_

Rain never ceased to make them both think of those final days their lost woman. Needless to say, they were the lowest energy days they had. She would often find a corner to curl up with one of the beat up hardcovers her mama had taken from the town library they had stopped in when they arrived there. He would sit by the old, bay window, crossbow at the ready, cracking his knuckles, then his wrists, neck and finally his back. It was a pattern he partook in every time he was on watch, repeating it again after fifteen minutes would go by.

The first rainy day of the spring season was not much different for them. She still sat in the corner with one of her books, and he was still sitting by the window, cracking his bones. Both had a stiffness about them, a rigid sense about them that hadn't been there before. Neither one said a word as heavy droplets pelted against the. It was like there was an unspoken agreement that neither would say a word when rain was falling. This storm was no different.

A few months before, she wasn't huddled in the corner reading a worn copy of a classic novel, but instead she was scurrying about the kitchen, pulling together a meal. "Mama, hold on. I'm almost done." Though it would have to do, she knew this lukewarm bowl of stew she had prepared would never hold a candle to her mama's. It was better than nothing, she reasoned. "Here we go." In the overstuffed chair that had been in the family room which attached to the kitchen, her mama was cuddled under a heap of blankets and still shivering, her blue eyes glazed over and breathing hoarse. A weak smile came over her cracked lips when she was handed the small bowl. "I know it isn't too much, but you need to get something more than crackers in you."

Shaking hands reached out to take the bowl. "Thank you, sweetheart," escaped those dry lips barely above a whisper. Within the few weeks before, her mama had begun to look older and so, so fragile. All of them knew she was withering away, and it was only a matter of time before her last breaths were taken. However, there was but one of them who was willing to admit it. "You're a dear, So-" One of the many coughing fits brought the statement to an abrupt and early close. Each day, the coughing was getting more and more violent. It was a wonder the woman had any voice left in her.

Amidst the chaos, stew had spilled all over her mama and the cocoon of blankets enveloping her. "Oh mama, let me help you get cleaned up." Carefully, she unwrapped the top layer of blanket from the ill body before her, quickly replacing it, but not before using a dry section to wipe off those shaking hands. "We don't need you getting any sicker than you already are, right?" It appeared as thought she nodded through another attack. "Good, now why don't we get you back up into bed, so you can get some rest?"

The beautiful, grey-blue eyes of her mama stared at her through half-open lids. "Sophia," a croak escaped the sickly woman's throat. "I don't think so. Not this time." There was no way she did not hear her mother's words, but she kept folding the wet blanket regardless. "Sophia, please. I can't. Not anymore."

Again, she showed no sign of response. "We'll get you set back up, snug in your bed. I can bring some books up, too, if you'd like." Deciding the blanket was not folded in the way she wanted, she unfolded it and began again. "I know you've probably read them all ten times over by now, but I also know how you love readin'. Thought you might like a little entertainment up there with you." With a frustrated sigh, she unfolded the blanket once more to start fresh. "Daryl, you wanna help bring Mama back upstairs?"

His shoulders were shaking, his face not towards them. "Kid." This had been one of the very few times she ever heard his voice grow so small. "Your momma ain't gonna make it upstairs." While she had still been folding, his eyes caught her mother's half-lidded gaze for a brief moment, and in that connection, they came to an understanding, one he never wanted to come to. "You even listenin' to her?" It was rare that he talked sternly to her. When he did, she knew that there was something very wrong that she had done. "Damnit, Sophia!"

All she could do was watch as he left his post, rush across the room, and crumble into a piled at the foot of her mama's chair, murmuring apologies into her lap. "I-" Any words she attempted to say stopped at the top of her throat. Nothing would come out no matter how much she tried to form coherent statements. There was no doubt her mama was dying. Likewise, there was no doubt she had been denying it for a long time. The last thing she wanted to do was have to lose her mother. "Mama."

She simply watched on as the strongest man she knew broke down before her sickly mother, her shaking hands in his as he whispered old stories and promises that he loved her with tears falling down his cheeks. "Woman, you and your girl were the best thing that coulda' happened to me after all this shit went down." Her real daddy would not have been caught dead saying something like that, and that is one of the main reasons she liked this man so much. "Hell, don't you cry, too."

Between heavy coughs and sniffles, she could see her mama's own tears falling from her eyes. "No, thank you... for everything." With one of those motherly glances her mother always sent, the young woman silently was beckoned to slip onto the arm of the chair and wrap her thin arms around her mama's neck. "And my Sophia, my beautiful, beautiful Sophia." Dry, cracked lips pressed against her forehead. "I love you."

With those words, her mama drifted off into her final quiet rest, her hands no longer shaking, eyes staring blankly into the distance. No more painful coughs came from her, and they knew she was at peace.

"Phia?" He was talking while it was raining. What an odd turn of events. "I'm sorry to interrupt your readin', but I wanted to let ya' know that I-uh-" He cleared his throat awkwardly. His eyes were still fixed on something outside, most likely her mama's grave. "I wanna tell ya' that I... I love ya', kid, and your momma. I loved her more than anythin', and..." He trailed off into incoherent babble, choking on his pain with every word. In her head, she had begun to make a list of things no one knew about Daryl Dixon. At the very top of it, she mentally took note of him being a highly emotional man, and the fact the she and her mama were the only people who knew that made her smile.


	8. Voice

_Whoa mama, new readers! :D Hi there, guys!_

_Thank you for taking the time to read this, and I'm so glad everyone seems to be enjoying. Due to popular demand, I brought about the explanation to Carol's death, and it seems to have gone over well. Thank you so much, Kaye (I'm not creepy, I promise. I just wanted to address you by name, so I had to look.), for the kind promo on twitter. That was, oh so, very sweet of you!_

_Another request made was learning more about Sophia and seeing if she has any qualities similar to Daryl. Here was an attempt at that, though I'm not sure I executed it as well as I would have liked._

_Again, thank you so very much for reading, you lovely people!_

_-Gabby _

Not once could she remember her mama raising her voice to him, which struck her odd. Though she loved him as though he were her father, she had to admit that he was one of the most frustrating people in the world. Her mama never complained about his lack of conversational skills or his incessant need to take watch every single night. There was no doubt in her mind that her mama had to be the most patient person left in the world. In fact, he would often agree with her in the sentiment that her mother deserved sainthood, to which she would say something along the lines of that being a blasphemous statement. "Ain't no god these days," he would mutter under his breath, eliciting an eyebrow raise from her mama and a giggle from herself in response. "What? I ain't got no religious freedom in this house? Gotta be a baby Jesus lover like the rest of y'all? Don't think so, woman." If her real daddy had said that to her mama and gotten the same response from her, all hell would have broken loose, but he just kept on grumbling no matter how many chuckles came out of his two female counterparts.

He had the tendency to be a grouch, one that was secretly the most complexly emotional person she had ever met but nevertheless a grouch. Since her mama passed, she found herself less and less amused with his grouchiness, especially when his mourning was added to the mix. It was unclear to her if he was just trapped in his own little world because he seemed to drift by day-to-day with little to no emotion as time dragged on after her mama's death. Granted, there were still times where he would show anything towards her, but it had become rather scarce, especially since that night he had gotten drunk off of her mama's wine. Anger had been bubbling in her slowly for weeks as he became more and more withdrawn.

It was within the week prior that his silence had gotten to her, barely saying more than ten words to her a day. Nothing but rage was filling her while her feet carried her across the house and out the balcony door. "Hey," she grunted at him, slamming the door behind her. To respond, he gave her a curt nod and kept sharpening the knife in his hand. "Hey, I've got somethin' to say to you." With a slight turn of his head, an arched eyebrow was revealed upon his face. "You haven't said more than four sentences to me in days? What gives?" The shrug that followed wass what really got her going. "Ain't gonna answer me? Typical. What the hell is wrong with you?"

After drawing in a sharp breath, he sighed heavily. "Carol ain't here," he snapped. "That's what's wrong with me, but I got no clue what the hell's gotten into you." He placed the knife down before turning, so his face was completely turned toward her. The usual examining squint was now looking over her expression. "Ya' look tired. Sleep'll fix that, y'know." With that, he moved to face the calm evening before them once again.

"Daryl, why in the fuck are you bein' such a goddamn asshole?" Without warning, he was standing right in front of her, his arms crossed and chest puffed out ever so slightly. "You fuckin' heard me. You barely talk to me. Have me worried sick, and now you're just bein' an ass. I don't think this is exactly what Mama had in mind when she told you she wanted us to take care of each other." Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. "Y'know, you weren't the only one who lost her."

She could see him holding back his own anger now, a warmly welcomed change emotion at that point. "Yeah? Well neither were you, so you best get on off your high horse and watch your mouth, girl." Her fists bunched at her sides, knuckles going white. "D'you wanna hit me, kid? Would that make you feel better?" He leaned forward with his cheek wide open for her. "Come on, gimme a good ol' punch right in the jaw. Y'know you wanna. C'mon, lemme' have it."

And she did just that. A skinny arm and bony hand swung at him, colliding with his face. Cheek slightly stinging with pain, he stumbled back. "You bastard!" she shouted while a tear rolled down her cheek. "You stop talkin' to me, and then start actin' like fuckin' Ed? What in god's name is wrong with you? I just wanted you to talk to me again! I didn't ask to be tormented by some redneck dickhead! God damnit, Daryl!"

His movements were quick once again, and before she could step away, he was chest-to-chest with her, eyes aflame. "Don't you fuckin' dare say that again." Something more than anger was in his whispers this time around, something she could not quite put her finger on. Both of his hands grasped her shoulders as he bent down a bit to be at eye level with her. "I ain't nothin' like that man. Nothin' lik him, and you know that, Sophia." It was remorse soaking his words now. All of the anger she had been holding onto seemed to roll right off of her shoulders when their eyes met, his steely blue, hers icy blue. "Sophia, I ain't like that bastard. I ain't. I was good to yer momma, and I'm tryin' ta' be good to you. It's… ya' know I ain't always good at talkin'."

The hands on her shoulders were now loosening their grip. It was like the sudden burst of emotion he had prior was now leaving him. "I know you aren't," she replied, barely audible. "I shouldn't have said that to you. It was wrong of me. Mama wouldn't have liked it much if I did something like that. Probably would've scolded me even." There were salty droplets cascading down her cheeks freely now; she stopped even attempting to stop them from doing so. "I-I'm sorry. I was just frustrated and angry, and… crap, I'm so sorry." She leaned forward to inspect the red handprint on his face. The tips of her thin fingers barely traced over the mark she had left on him. "I'm so sorry."

This time, it was her turn to make quick movements by throwing her arms around him, burying her face into his neck. The rest of her words were muffled by both sobs and the fact that she was speaking into his neck, but he could not help but think he heard her call him daddy. As her soft demeanor returned, his gentle way when he was around her also came back. Wrapping his strong arms around her trembling frame, he lifted her up ever so slightly. "Love you, Sophia." Her grip around his neck tightened. "I ain't gonna do anything else to hurt you. I'm sorry."

If he was not completely sure his mind was playing tricks on him, he would have thought that her mama was standing in the doorway with a smile on her, sweet face. In his mind, he could hear his woman saying, "Well, she does do things just like her father, doesn't she?" Burying his face into her hair, he pressed a soft kiss against her head. Knowing she was his daughter, his kin to protect and take care of, made his heart swell. A small grin came across his lips as he realized his woman was right. His little girl did do just what he did: explode with anger and then immediately regret it.

"I love you too, Daddy."


	9. Nostalgia

_Hello and longtime no see!_

_I apologize for my neglect of this story. School got pretty crazy, but now, that I'm almost done with my college applications and insanity marking period crunch is winding down, I should be able to tend to this more often. More importantly, can we just talk about Carol for a second and how she's become a hilarious, badass, doctor lady. UGH, I LOVE IT._

_Anyway, thank you guys for reading, as always, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's kind of an insight to where Carol came from. I'm not sure if I'm the biggest fan. I do, however, enjoy Carol's father. :D I do hope you'll all enjoy this!_

_-Gabby_

When she was a young girl, her mama was a ballerina, and from the stories her grandfather had told, she was a damn good one. Vaguely, she could recall sitting in her grandparents' house, flipping through page-after-page in the dozens of photo albums. All of them were there, her Pop, her Nan, her Uncles Finn and Karl, her Aunt Addie, and, of course, her mama. They all were beautiful, tall with blonde hair and blue eyes, but she always thought her mama was the most beautiful.

Her mama had explained to her that before she was married her last name was Mahler, and that this name came from Germany. It was during her time in the fourth grade when she was doing a project on where her family came from. "My daddy came over from all the way across that big ocean," her mama told her. The two of them were looking through those old photo albums, the usual, bittersweet smile donning her mother's face. "Do you remember what he would always tell the story of how he came over?"

"'Ve got on teh biggest boat I had ever seen, and ve vent and sailed to tee Americas. Vell, long story short, here ve are,'" she recited from memory. That was all they were now, memories. Her grandfather was gone. Her mama was gone, too.

A hand rested on her shoulder, his long and heavy sigh following the soft touch. "Why you lookin' at them things?" He knew they would just upset her even after the eight months that had passed without her mama there. Although he could not say he had never looked at the pictures, she was just so much more fragile than him. There had already been so many tears shed, her freckled cheeks bright red and tear-stained. "Phia."

Over her shoulder, he saw a more recent picture of a lovely woman in a white dress with her long, blonde hair running down her back in loose curls in the arms of a tuxedo-clad man, who appeared to have maybe been in the army before due to the saved sides of his head. They both had the brightest, happiest smiles on their faces as they looked at each other. "My mama and Ed's wedding," she sniffed. "Right before he left for the army, she told me. Wasn't she so beautiful? Told me he wasn't always such a dick. She said he had something go wrong with his brain when he was away."

Never would he had guessed the woman in that picture was his woman. She looked so... whole, so unbroken. In her youth, his woman was beautiful, not that she wasn't beautiful as she aged, but there was something about her that was just stunning. "Yeah," was all he could muster as a reply. "Why'd she keep her hair short?" She could have modeled. He was sure of it. At least, he would have preferred looking at her to any of the models that were popular.

The spitting image of his woman chuckled a low, sour laugh. "It's harder to grab onto short hair when you want to drag someone across the kitchen." She flipped through the pages idly, fingers running over the lengths of the pages. "I remember her daddy used to called mine 'teh damn French bastard.' Mama told me he was from Germany, and that I wasn't allowed to make fun of his accent."

"Ya' were fond of him then? Your granpa?" She turned back to face him with a tiny, toothless smile on her face, much like the one her mama used to make, and nodded. "He wasn't a... um..." A snort came from her before she shook her head. There was no doubt in her mind about what he was going to say. "Don't laugh at me, girl. Can't blame me for wonderin'."

Her giggling continued. "Wondering if he was a 'Nah-tsee?'" In return, he shoved her shoulder. "His family left the country after the war when he was fifteen or sixteen." It was a moment before she began again, her teeth coming down on her lower lip. "He called me his spatzi. According to Mama, that meant little sparrow in German. When I asked him why, he told me."

The scene played in her mind. She was eleven and sitting across from her grandfather at a small table in his favorite sitting room in the large, farmhouse. "My spatzi, teh veekend has only yust begun, yet you frown? Vhy is tis?" He was a large man, tall with a round face and a figure to match. His chin was covered with a bushy white beard and eyes with thin-framed glasses. They were the same eyes that he passed onto her mama, which her mama then passed onto her. "Vould you like to ride tee horses? You do alvays enyoy dis."

"No, thank you," her voice squeaked out. It was not often that she was given options when it came to what to do. "Opa, may I ask you a question?"

He smiled broadly at her. "Of course, my dear spatzi."

"Why do you call me that? Mama told me it means little sparrow, but I'm not a bird. Why to you call me a sparrow, Opa? Do I sound like a bird? Am I chirpy and get really loud way too early in the morning?"

Immediately, he answered her, like he was waiting for her to ask, "Vhen tee sailors long ago vould see a sparrow flying in teh skies, tey felt like tere was good luck upon tem because sparrows are birds of land, so it meant tey vould be home soon." He smiled at her again, a smaller one this time. "You are teh luck for my Carol, a hope of land in an endless sea, but enough of dees chatter, ve'll ride the horses today. Your mother always was so fond of tat."

"We both did like ridin' the horses on the farm. Mama tried to get over there when Ed was outta the house as much as possible. My Nan died when I was eight, and that was rough for him. Mama worried about him. I guess, the whole time he was worryin' about her, though." She glanced back at the tired hunter. That was what he had become. Tired. "Think he would've liked you. You treated Mama well."

"Good thing I ain't no French bastard."


End file.
